


Shake The Sand

by LinguistLove_24



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Elections, F/M, Light Angst, Romantic Fluff, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/LinguistLove_24
Summary: "In his arms, she was not the First Lady, Madam Secretary, or Madam President, but his wife, his love, and that was the greatest thing she would ever be."One shot loosely inspired by Luke Bryan's 'Shake the Sand'





	Shake The Sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blush8657](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blush8657/gifts).



> My foray back into the fandom with some one shot emotional fluff because Blush8657 inspired me to try to get back to writing again. I'm not sure how often I will be able to post or what my next piece will be, but prompts/suggestions are always welcome. 
> 
> Set 2016 post election
> 
> 100% fiction

**Shake the Sand**

 

Standing in the middle of the impeccably decorated casita with its polished wooden floors, looking out onto the terrace at the wicker chaise where they'd lain together mere hours before saw an impish grin tugging at the corner of Bill's mouth. His wife was in his arms, pressed close enough he could still smell the scent of the resort's standard shampoo in her dried, sun-streaked hair. The Royal Isabela Puerto Rico was a world away from the November chill to which they'd become unwittingly acclimated, and had lifted the dark, heavy but invisible cloud of election aftermath that hung over them.

 

 

“Hard to believe this little slice of heaven technically belongs to the States, isn't it?” His voice was soft, as it usually always was in such intimate instances, still, his wife startled, laughed lightly upon realising the ridiculousness of her involuntary reaction.

 

“It is.” Hillary turned nearly imperceptibly in his embrace and looked up at him, feeling his grip tighten around her waist once she stilled. “Thank you,” she choked, the words thick on her tongue.

 

 

“For what?” Bill's brow arched and he gazed quizzically at her. She didn't blink, let her eyes stare into his face, and he could have sworn he saw them well up and water.

 

 

“Convincing me to get out of bed in the mornings after this whole mess of an election blew over, bringing me here, being a safe haven through all the chaos.”

 

 

“Hillary,” he said seriously, signature drawl somehow maintaining its soothing quality, “you know you don't have to thank me for that.”

 

 

“But I do.” Small, porcelain hands rested atop her husband's and gently pried them away from her middle so as to allow her to do a full about-face. Sparkling blues gazed affectionately down on her small frame, Bill's larger hands and elegant fingers easily fanning out over her backside. Lips were still and silent as his mind whirred with recollection of the weeks prior to finding their way to paradise. The heaviness that bestowed itself upon his heart when he thought about those days, the loss still fresh, Hillary's – and even his own – grief still raw, coupled with the return of a lump in his throat, neither of these things were loud enough that he could block out the sound of his own breath. Heavy and anxious, he focused on it, slowly brought himself out of the fog of unwanted memories, was comforted by the feeling of his wife's warm skin under his hands. In all moments of weakness, she'd always been the thing, the one, to make him come alive again. At his wife's most fragile and vulnerable point, he'd vowed to himself to be the same for her.

 

 

“You're welcome.” Bill's voice barely above a whisper, Hillary felt the fair hairs on the nape of her neck come to attention. The affects he had on her were evidently still the same so many years later. Never would she tire of this fact showing itself. “I'm glad you're better now,” he told her, touching down on her lips and lingering there. “You had me scared for a while.”

 

 

“Sorry,” she smiled easily, a gesture of reassurance she hoped would pacify him.

 

 

Stepping out of his embrace and tentatively away, arms were crossed over herself as she fixated a far off gaze on the crystal blue waters lining the beaches in the distance. “I scared myself too,” she said in a small voice after long, slow beats of silence. “I've only lost myself like that a handful of times in my life, and I don't think any of them scared me as much as this last one.”

 

 

Bill stepped a few paces closer, took a protective stance behind the woman who'd stood by his side longer than he knew he probably deserved, and rested his hand on her shoulder. The ocean view instantly captivated him, too, and each party, feeling secure in the love they felt for one another and wrapped in the magical cocoon that their particular corner of Puerto Rico so embodied, allowed themselves to remember bits and pieces of aftermath they'd ventured there to forget.

 

 

**///**

 

_Sighing, Bill pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose before marking a page in his book and closing it. No matter how large or spacious their house was, her cries echoed off the walls, and he hated it. Campaigning was over, the election was over, conceding had happened, smiles, hugs and handshakes had all been extended, but his wife was a mess, and it hurt him to the core._

 

 

_Glassware clinked in the kitchen and he breathed a sigh of relief over the fact Hillary was very much still alive and functioning, if only at a minimum level._

 

 

_“Hi honey.” His voice was calm and measured as he made his way to the kitchen and stood watching her in the entryway, but his heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he took in her wrinkled bathrobe and dishevelled hair._

 

 

_“Hi,” Hillary mumbled without turning round. Bill watched a stream of boiling water exit the spout of the kettle and fall to cover a tea bag sitting in the bottom of a mug._

 

 

_“Have you eaten?” Many a teacup had been scattered around the house, used bags still in the bottom, but he'd worried relentlessly about her loss of appetite._

 

 

_“I'm not hungry.”_

 

 

_Bill's heart sank further still at the fragility in her voice, realising again just how out of character she'd become._

 

 

_“Baby,” he said softly, stepping closer, attempting to turn her body toward him but failing when she forced her limbs to become rigid, “you're allowed to be a mess right now, but you've gotta eat.”_

 

 

_“I can't,” she choked out. “Please don't push this right now.”_

 

 

_“Hillary,” he cooed, “look at me.”_

 

 

_“No.”_

 

 

_“Yes,” he commanded more forcefully. “Look at me.”_

 

 

_Feeling his hand caress one side of her face, she craned her neck and allowed watery blues to burn into his more serious gaze, other parts of her body remaining rigid and stock still. “What?” The whisper that escaped her was nearly inaudible._

 

 

_“Talk to me,” he pleaded of her, and Hillary noted his desperation, suddenly feeling guilty._

 

 

_“I really, really thought I did enough,” she said sadly, looking away from him. “I thought the people were ready for me.”_

 

 

_“I know,” he told her gently, words failing him. “I'm sorry. I wish I could take away what you're feeling, but you have to know you're enough for me. You always were, even when I didn't show you.”_

 

 

_“I know that now,” Hillary told him. “I do.”_

 

 

_“Why don't we get away for a while, leave all this behind us?”_

 

 

_His voice rose an octave and his eyes sparkled when he noticed she was smiling._

 

 

_“Where do you want to go?” she asked tentatively._

 

 

_“Far away and warm sounds appealing, but you can keep me warm anywhere,” he winked._

 

 

_“Bill,” Hillary admonished, touching lightly down on his mouth and chuckling against his lips. “Let's go,” she told him as she pulled away, and he witnessed the first hint of real happiness he'd seen manifest itself in weeks._

 

 

**_///_ **

 

 

“Earth to Hill!” Bill said loudly as he followed her up onto the deck outside their room on their way back from the beach.

 

 

“Sorry.” Laughing heavily, she turned on the ball of one foot to look at him. “What?” 

 

 

“I said you'd better take those sandals off and shake the sand out of 'em before we get inside. Housekeeping probably ain't gonna be too happy if you don't.”

 

 

“Fuck 'em,” Hillary answered, laughing harder. “You sure that's the only thing you want me to take off?”she asked him mischievously. 

 

 

“Definitely not. If I have my way, we'll be shakin' sand out of the sheets in the morning.”

 

A new round of giggles escaped her, and his eyes twinkled hearing them turn to shrieks as he swept her up. In his arms, she was not the First Lady, Madam Secretary, or Madam President, but his wife, his love, and that was the greatest thing she would ever be. Even the most accomplished had their moments of injustice, struggle, seemingly insurmountable pain. In the moments she was hurt or it was all too much, he would do what he could to move mountains, or fly to secluded corners of the earth and do something as gloriously mundane as shake the sand out of high end hotel sheets.

 


End file.
